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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382144">hollow me out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab'>lady_mab</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>inside every open eye [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Character Study, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:42:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,392</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27382144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a prophecy about Gerry in the Archives. </p>
<p>He doesn't know when he learned that there was a prophecy about him. In one memory, he's always known. Like he was born with this knowledge, like he would always be destined for this path. </p>
<p>In another memory, his mother sits him down — at some point in time when they're not fighting, when he's actually around to be sat down, when she... well... Not that she cares enough to sit him down, but more like she can swallow down whatever revulsion she has to look at him long enough. </p>
<p>"You will go to work at the Magnus Institute," his mother told him.</p>
<p>"Why?" he asked.</p>
<p>"Because things are already in motion. Because I said so. Because no matter what you or I say, you will end up there one way or another. That's how fate works," she says, and it sounds like a curse.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>inside every open eye [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>hollow me out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>You give,<br/>and you give,<br/>and you give<br/>till there's nothing left to give<br/>just a hole and the sin of the charitable<br/>I've been around long enough to remember<br/>why I don't give anymore.<br/>- The Dear Hunter's "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uF_rr7URFBg">Take More Than You Need</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There is a prophecy about Gerry in the Archives. </p>
<p>Gertrude, more of a witch than an Archivist, won't tell him where to find it. "Looking for it is a waste of time," she tells him, though she at least spares him a glare from over the rim of her glasses. "So I don't want to find you trying to locate it, Gerard." </p>
<p>She has always said his name wrong, since day one, since before day one — since his interview, when he sat across the three people who decided he was worthy for this line of work. The Archivist, the Watcher, and some third person that, for the life of him, Gerry cannot remember the name or face to. </p>
<p>"Gerard Keay," he had said as he sat down, and she got this look on her face, there and gone in an instant. Like she bit into an apple and found that it was sour. Not rotten, just sour. Something she resigned herself to instead of outright dismissing. </p>
<p>"Gerard," she said the next time they spoke, as if slamming the syllables of his name together would make it leave her mouth faster. Like him being called <em>Jared</em> was a better universe than the one where he was Gerard. </p>
<p>The Watcher, upon hearing this name, lifted his eyebrows like it was the most curious thing in the world. "Gerard Keay," he repeated, turning the sound of it over in his mouth. "Why is that name familiar?" </p>
<p>Had he known, then? Had the prophecy already been spoken, recorded, stored? </p>
<p>Only all of the Watchers in all of the Archives know the full extent of the prophecies across the branches. But was it this one, Elias Bouchard, who had seen what happened to him and was it this Archivist, Gertrude Robinson, who had written it down? </p>
<p>"Are you listening?" Gertrude asks, bringing him back to the now when he sits in the stacks with his feet up on the table and a sheaf of paper in his hands. "I don't want you wasting your time by digging around for the prophecy about you." </p>
<p>"I know," he says, not bothering to adjust his posture if she won't tell him to. She can glare all she wants, but they're both stubborn creatures. Neither will do a thing until the other says something. "I'm just curious." </p>
<p>"Leave the curiosity to the cats." She waves a hand to dismiss it and him and turns away. </p>
<p>Gerry doesn't watch her go, because he's too busy glaring at the papers in his hands. </p>
<hr/>
<p>He doesn't know when he learned that there was a prophecy about him. In one memory, he's always known. Like he was born with this knowledge, like he would always be destined for this path. </p>
<p>In another memory, his mother sits him down — at some point in time when they're not fighting, when he's actually around to be sat down, when she... well... Not that she <em>cares</em> enough to sit him down, but more like she can swallow down whatever revulsion she has to look at him long enough. </p>
<p>("<em>You look so much like your father</em>," she used to say, running her fingers over his forehead and through his hair. He doesn't remember his father. He doesn't remember the night that she did this exact motion, except her fingers were sticky with blood. He does, but he doesn't. "<em>You look so much like him, but you're like me, aren't you?</em>" </p>
<p>Like rage and fire and dagger-sharp edges, is what she meant. It's true. He inherited all her worst qualities, and the problem is, he doesn't remember his father well enough to know how to temper the steel of Mary Keay that is wedged into his heart.)</p>
<p>"You will go to work at the Magnus Institute," his mother told him — only once, because she never repeated herself (<em>You look so much like your father</em> is the one exception).</p>
<p>"Why?" he asked, to be contrary. To be difficult. Because he didn't know <em>what</em> he wanted to do with his life, but surely anything <em>other</em> than what his mother told him to do was preferable. </p>
<p>"Because things are already in motion. Because I said so. Because no matter what you or I say, you will end up there one way or another." She snorts and looks away, and he sees the anger in her jaw that he recognizes when he catches sight of his own reflection. The tick, just beneath the hollow of her cheeks. The haughty angle of her profile. "That's how fate works," she says, and it sounds like a curse. </p>
<p>He still doesn't know if that is when he learned that there was a prophecy about him, or if, later, the pieces he picked up along the way fell into place. Like suddenly, they clicked, and it made sense. </p>
<p>Was that before or after he sat down across from the Archivist and the Watcher, from the two that knew him before they met him? </p>
<p>More importantly, did Mary know? Did she know <em>why</em> her son had to go work there, though she never told him why she hated the place? </p>
<p>Gerry never learned from her.</p>
<p>He asked, once, and she refused to answer. </p>
<p>He never got the chance to ask again, and he doesn't know how much that bothers him that she died and took so many secrets with her. </p>
<hr/>
<p>But that's all out of order.</p>
<p>And he wonders if she knew that, too. What his prophecy said, what her life would entail. </p>
<p>If she did, would she have changed anything? </p>
<p><em>That's how fate works.</em> He remembers the way she spat out the words. </p>
<p>He remembers the taste of iron on his tongue every time he repeats that line to himself. </p>
<p>
  <em>That's how fate works.</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>"You will work at the Magnus Institute." </p>
<p>She is the one who set his path in motion, and he wonders if he's allowed to hate her for it, or if she was just playing a role. </p>
<hr/>
<p>So he goes for an interview, on a whim now that he looks back at it. </p>
<p>A fight with his mother, about stars only know what, because he's lost track, after all this time. After all these arguments. </p>
<p>He leaves, again, and this time, he doesn't come back. </p>
<p>The Archivist who calls him Gerard without the decency to actually commit to saying it like Jared, and the Watcher who looks at him like he's ruminating over a particularly delightful puzzle.</p>
<p>When the new Archives opens, Gerry goes with them. </p>
<p>He doesn't tell his mother. </p>
<p>He doesn't look back. </p>
<p>He's in a realm of prophecy — he can only look forward.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There is a second assistant that gets hired at the same time as Gerry. </p>
<p>His name is Michael Shelley, and he is the first one in this whole fucking place that doesn't look at Gerry like he's expecting something or someone else. That is, when he bothers looking at Gerry at all. </p>
<p>It's not that he's rude — like he's got this grudge on his shoulder and predisposed to hate Gerry before they've even officially met. It's more that he's always reading something, looking into something, investigating. </p>
<p>Gerry hasn't decided if he likes Michael or not, but it's neither here nor there, he decides. </p>
<p>And, when it comes down to it, they work well together. Perhaps, in the end, that's all that really matters. It's more than anyone else in his life has shown him, so he'll take it. </p>
<hr/>
<p>On their first day in the new Archives, as researchers and other assistants bring in boxes of prophecy requested by the Watcher and his Archivist, Gerry and Michael stand awkwardly off to the side. Watching. </p>
<p>"Do you think we should help?" Michael whispers, fingers twitching nervously at his side as if he's anxious to get his hands on a piece of parchment. </p>
<p>"Gertrude hasn't yelled at us to be useful, so..." Gerry scratches the back of his head, looking around at the interior of the building. </p>
<p>Lots of windows letting in natural light; a graceful colonnade on either side of the hall that leads straight through the center of the building, from the front doors to the Watcher's office; a compass rose set into the middle of the main hall beneath a domed skylight. </p>
<p>Gerry wonders what it is about places of study that always look so serene and beautiful. Is it supposed to inspire people to want to research? He feels like he'd be more inclined to sit and stare out of the windows all day.</p>
<p>"Do you think the Watcher saw us mucking something up, so he told them all not to ask us for help?" Gerry teases, nudging Michael in the side with an elbow. </p>
<p>This only earns him a frown, and Gerry's first instinct is to immediately reel back, the apology already on his tongue. </p>
<p>But Michael isn't frowning at <em>him</em>. He doesn't lash out, the way Gerry is used to his mother doing. Instead, it's a casual purse of his lips as he frowns in thought. "Is it possible? I always thought that the staff of the Institute, especially the Archives, were omitted from prophecy." </p>
<p>This catches Gerry's curiosity — tiny little hooks catching into every part of him with a violent tug. Mary's voice in his ear, <em>Because no matter what you or I say, you will end up there one way or another</em>. "What?" </p>
<p>"What?" Michael echoes, turning his attention over to Gerry. There is confusion written all over his face, and it seems so out of place that Gerry wonders if he just <em>completely</em> misheard everything in the conversation. Or if he sprouted a second head. Or he suddenly started shouting prophecies of his own. </p>
<p>Still, when the confusion doesn't turn to revulsion or shock, Gerry pushes on. "What do you mean that the staff are omitted from prophecy?" </p>
<p>"Everyone knows that," Michael says, with a tone that reminds Gerry that this man has worked at the Institute before being hired on as one of Gertrude's assistants. "It makes sense if you think about it." </p>
<p>"Not really." When Michael's confusion intensifies, Gerry says, "Are they just not supposed to show up in any visions? What if they do? Do they get burned or something, so that they can't be found?" </p>
<p>Michael's brow only furrows deeper before something clicks and realization lights up his pale face and green eyes. "You were told you have a prophecy?" His tone indicates that this is a curious case, something worthy of study. </p>
<p>Gerry hesitates, then shrugs. "Not in so many words. I just... thought. I might." It feels weird to try and explain it now — his mother's conviction, his own interview, the look on Gertrude and Elias' faces. How it made sense, without being said outright. </p>
<p>Considering this, Michael returns to his study of the Institute staff moving things around, industrious worker ants acting without instruction, not even sparing the two of them a look. "Interesting." </p>
<p>And then, because they're friends, or at least, they're coworkers, and Gerry hopes that they might be friends (but he doesn't know what that means, because he's never had friends before, but he's also never had coworkers before), he nudges Michael again with his elbow. "Want to help me look for it?" </p>
<p>"It seems like a terrible idea," Michael says without hesitation. </p>
<p>Gerry frowns. </p>
<p>"Think about it." Michael holds up his hands, bracketing his long, slender fingers around empty space as if to indicate a stage only he can see. "If a member of the staff has a prophecy about them, and they find out what it entails, then they will think more about what it says than about their job." </p>
<p><em>Naturally</em>, is what Gerry thinks, but what he says is, "I wouldn't let it bother me."</p>
<p>Michael shakes his head and purses his lips. The curiosity is there, the interest, but it has been banked like a fire no longer out of control. "You cannot know that." </p>
<p>He puffs out his chest, because he likes to think that he <em>does</em> know that, knows that much about himself, but then he thinks about <em>you look so much like your father, but you're like me, aren't you?</em></p>
<p>He is. Stars help him, but he is. </p>
<p>Just the knowledge that there might be one <em>nags</em> at him, and he wants to start opening all of the boxes to find it. </p>
<p>His mother would tear this place apart to find it, probably expects the same of him. </p>
<p>And <em>that</em> is why he swallows down the urge, because he will not be like her. For once, he will face his mother and give her the middle finger as he ignores that blade she has placed deep in between his ribs, piercing his heart. </p>
<p>If at least, only metaphorically. </p>
<p>"I wonder what it's about," Gerry says instead, with the tone of resignation that he hopes conveys the fact that he's given up on finding it. </p>
<p>"Probably not about your death." Michael lifts an eyebrow and returns Gerry's look of confusion with a challenge. "You're an abnormality, I'll accept that. But if your prophecy is still here, a copy of it, which means that it is important enough to keep, I would find it hard to imagine that they would leave something pertaining to your death so close at hand." </p>
<p>It makes sense. Of course it makes sense. This is why Michael was hired — he's good at research, he finds logical conclusions, and he can take things in stride. </p>
<p>Why was Gerry hired? Because his mother said he would be? Because Elias gave him this look like he's a puzzle to be solved, like he's familiar. Because Gertrude bit out his name like it was poison she was obligated to take, like he's <em>familiar</em>. </p>
<p>Because he is made of rage and fire and dagger-sharp edges, and that's a dangerous combination to have in a house of paper and fate and fragile futures, but it's a perfect weapon to hunt down monsters. </p>
<p>"Maybe I'll live forever," Gerry says when the silence has gone on for too long. </p>
<p>Michael doesn't smile at that, but his snort is at least amused as he shakes his head again and shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Maybe, or maybe it's about how you'll grow old stuck in a boring Archivist's Assistant job where nothing exciting happens ever," he says before heading off in the direction of their offices. </p>
<p>Gerry watches him go, surprised, and then lets out a delighted laugh.</p>
<hr/>
<p>It's about a year into his service in the Archives that the new girl starts. </p>
<p>"Boys," Gertrude says, because even though they're both closer to thirty than not, Gertrude is more grandmother than not, so she calls Gerry and Michael 'boys'. "Meet Sasha." She does little more by way of introduction, instead just nodding to the two 'boys' in a way that means "play nice". </p>
<p>Sasha, who is probably only a handful of years younger than Gerry, stares at the two of them — her eyes wide behind round glasses. She grips her skirts, and her hair is done up in a haphazard sort of braid that looks like it survived a ride on a wild horse. </p>
<p>After a beat, where the three of them don't say anything, she curtsies. </p>
<p>Gerry and Michael exchange glances, because they didn't know that Gertrude planned on hiring a new assistant, because they don't know what that means that she <em>did</em>. True, they've both been working long hours and have seen things that defied common sense, but neither of them complained about the load. </p>
<p>Gertrude coughs, loudly and pointedly, and all three of them jump in surprise. </p>
<p>"Gerry," he says by way of introduction, holding out his hand to her. </p>
<p>She meets his gaze and accepts his handshake with a firm grip. "A pleasure," she says, her voice lilting and almost musical. </p>
<p>"I'm Michael," the other assistant says, and the two of them shake hands as well. "Are you a recent hire?" </p>
<p>"I worked in the artefact storage at the main Institute for a year? A year and a few months, really. I've been applying to work at one of the Archival branches, for a few months now, and finally got accepted!" She brightens, and Gerry feels old and tired just watching her. "I look forward to working with both of you," she continues, and she sounds breathless with excitement. </p>
<p>Gerry and Michael exchange another glance, but he's relieved to see the hint of a soft smile on Michael's mouth. She is young and fresh, but already, Gerry can tell that she will bring a welcomed dynamic to the team. </p>
<p>"Good," Gerry says, and he's ready to tease because that's the easiest way for him to handle it. "You can start by putting these back for us." He fondly slaps the pile of books and papers sitting between him and Michael. </p>
<p>Michael kicks him under the table, but Gerry just gives what he hopes is a good natured grin. </p>
<p>Sasha stares at the pile of books in surprise, then at him, and over her shoulder Gerry can see Gertrude give a roll of her eyes — but nothing else on her face gives away any sort of indication who she is reacting to this. </p>
<p>In fact, Gertrude grunts in what must be a 'I'll leave you to it' sort of way and turns to head back to her office. </p>
<p>"He's just being a shit," Michael says with a sigh. "I'll put them away, don't listen to a thing he says." </p>
<p>"That's not nice!" Gerry proclaims as Michael stands, scooping the books into his arms. "I promise I say things that are very worthwhile." </p>
<p>Michael shoots him a <em>look</em>, but they've been working together for a year. Gerry knows his looks, what they mean, and this one isn't annoyed by any stretch. "Maybe once in a rare moon, you do." </p>
<p>"And just like those rare moons, my words are worth the wait." Gerry's grin hangs crooked on his lips, and he winks — earning him another <em>look</em> from Michael and a startled blush from Sasha. </p>
<p>Gerry pats the recently vacated spot as Michael heads off into the stacks with his armful of books and papers. "Sit, Sash." </p>
<p>She does, though hesitantly. "It is just the two of you, correct?" </p>
<p>"Well, if you don't count Gertrude, though Michael and I take care of the grunt work." </p>
<p>"What exactly does the grunt work include?" She glances over her shoulder in the direction Michael had gone. "Beyond putting away books." </p>
<p>Gerry makes a vague gesture with his hand. "Any time the Watcher has a new prophecy, or if someone comes to leave a statement regarding one, or what have you, it's our job to sort the evidence and catalogue it." </p>
<p>"Oh, I see," Sasha says, nodding in understanding. "Research will often request documents and prophecies from the Archives for their studies, correct?" </p>
<p>He shrugs. "We get a few requests. But it's also—" Gerry cuts himself off, suddenly uncertain how much he should say. </p>
<p>He's saved from having to figure out a way around Sasha's curious stare by Michael's return. "Good!" Gerry chimes instead. "Let's take the new girl on a tour, eh?" </p>
<p>Sasha, bless her, doesn't call him out on avoiding what he was about to say. Instead, she rises to her feet and tosses the tail end of her braid over her shoulder. "I would like that very much," she says. </p>
<p>Michael nods, setting down a new stack of books on the table where they had been working. "Of course." He holds out a hand to guide Sasha into the stacks. "You must also be hungry, if you came from the main Institute at this early an hour—" </p>
<p>"Starving, actually," she admits, and blushes again as her stomach gives a timely growl. </p>
<p>Gerry trails after them, running a thought over in his head. </p>
<p>How, exactly, is one supposed to tell another about the monsters that make finding the truth of a statement so difficult? </p>
<hr/>
<p>It's not that Gerry was unaware that there were monsters in the world. His mother is Mary Keay, after all, though he knows that the number of people who understand what that means is extremely limited. </p>
<p>Instead, it's just that he never thought about what it meant that there were monsters. </p>
<p>They were things used to scare children, to explain the inexplicable, to make tough things easier to stomach. </p>
<p>Spirits, gods, monsters — they all fall into this category, as far as Gerry is concerned. </p>
<p>He was told, during his interview, that he would have to fight monsters. </p>
<p>"Clearly you've never met my mother," he joked, but the look that Gertrude and Elias gave him made him wonder just how true that statement was. "I can hold my own, if that's a concern for my qualifications." </p>
<p>"We don't doubt that," the unmemorable member of the interview panel said. "But monsters does not always mean a physical altercation." </p>
<p>Gerry doesn't bother making another joke about Mary. "I understand that as well." </p>
<p>"Things that look human, but you must remember: they are not." </p>
<p>
  <em>You look so much like your father, but you're like me, aren't you?</em>
</p>
<p>Sometimes you need a monster to fight one. </p>
<p>Sometimes you need rage and fire and dagger-sharp edges. </p>
<p>"I don't understand why you are telling me this," Gerry says, tired. (Was this line of thought repeated because they knew his prophecy? Again, again, it all comes down to that question: Did they know?) </p>
<p>This time, it's Elias that speaks, his hands folded on the desk before him. "Is there anything that you are scared of, Gerard?" He, at least, says Gerry's name correctly. </p>
<p>Gerry tilts his head to the side, considering this. <em>My mother,</em> comes instantly to his tongue, but he swallows it down. <em>Becoming just like her,</em> is next, but that also is stifled. </p>
<p>Eventually, after thinking the question through and finding no other answer, he shakes his head. </p>
<p>"A rare sort," Elias muses. </p>
<p>Gertrude snorts, but doesn't say anything. </p>
<p>"Sir—" Gerry starts, but Elias holds up a hand to stop him. </p>
<p>"I'm sure you'll do just fine," Elias says as he smiles and in that smile, Gerry thinks he sees another monster, but he's not quite sure. </p>
<hr/>
<p>"We should tell her," Gerry says. </p>
<p>"I don't see why—" Michael starts, voice muted but not hushed. </p>
<p>Gerry runs a hand back through his hair, tangles his fingers in the strands, wonders if he shouldn't get Sasha to teach him how to braid it. Her hair always looks so nice. "What if something happens?" </p>
<p>Michael's eyebrows lift. "To us?" </p>
<p>Truth be told, he didn't know what he meant when he said that, so he nods. "To us, to the Archives. To <em>her</em>." </p>
<p>"If Gertrude didn't tell her, then I don't think that it's necessary." </p>
<p>Gerry rolls his eyes so hard that he's pretty certain there must be a sound effect to describe it. "Oh fuck off. Like Gertrude would tell anyone <em>anything</em>." </p>
<p>"She told us—" </p>
<p>"She told us <em>shit</em> when she sent us out there the first time." Gerry's voice drops to a hiss and he jabs an angry finger in the direction of the front doors to the archives. "She gave us a map and a vague description and said <em>off you go, boys</em> without so much as a <em>good luck</em> or a wave goodbye." </p>
<p>"We knew what we were getting into when we applied!" </p>
<p><em>Did we?</em> Gerry wants to ask, but Michael reads it on his face anyway. </p>
<p>"We were told we were going to fight monsters. That's what we do." Michael says it in a way that means he's done with this argument, that he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, but Gerry isn't done.</p>
<p>He slams his hand into the wall to keep Michael from being able to easily exit. "There is a difference between monsters and nightmares, and you know it." </p>
<p>Michael's lips press into a thin frown, the expression so familiar and so common when aimed at Gerry. But instead of rising to the anger, he says, "What do you think telling her will do?" </p>
<p>"She should not be kept in the dark about any of this. What if she gets sent out there, to collect information on a prophecy, and she comes across any of those... <em>things</em>." </p>
<p>"It's been a month, and we are the only ones who go." </p>
<p>It's true, but Gerry is tired of conceding the point to Michael. Especially on shit like this. "And when something happens to us when we're out there? Like when you came back with your arm near <em>backwards</em>—" </p>
<p>"A mundane explanation can be found—" </p>
<p>"Michael! There was nothing mundane about what happened!" </p>
<p>Sure, it could be written off as a bad break, falling down a cliff and catching his arm on an extended root. Yanking the elbow out of alignment and walking all the way back to the Archives with it hanging uselessly at his side. But that only created more questions, if one was curious enough. </p>
<p>Sasha is curious enough. </p>
<p><em>Leave the curiosity to the cats</em>, Gertrude liked to say, and he can imagine Sasha snapping her mouth shut and getting that look on her face again that means she is storing it in her mind for later investigation. Like when she's alone, or when they trust her more than they currently do. </p>
<p>"The Spiral," Michael starts, then stops. His left hand strays to cup his right elbow, and his eyes go glossy — remembering the pain, the details of the moment in question. "Then we will keep her here, in the Archives—" </p>
<p>Gerry's groan buries the rest of whatever Michael is trying to say. He tosses his hands into the air, and turns, ready to storm off and stew in his anger somewhere else. </p>
<p>Sasha is standing behind him. </p>
<p>She stares at both of them with her eyes wide behind round glasses, and there is a glint in them that means <em>she knows</em>. </p>
<p>"Tell me what?" she says innocently, and if Gerry was any more of a fool, he might fall for it. </p>
<p>There's a beat, then Michael heaves a tired but emphatic, "Well <em>fuck</em>," from over Gerry's shoulder. </p>
<hr/>
<p>They tell her. </p>
<p>She listens, face pinched and serious. </p>
<p>They tell her about the monsters, about the nightmares. </p>
<p>They tell her about what it means to really <em>fear</em> something. </p>
<p>About the things that hoard secrets and truths in equal measure. </p>
<p>About the things that try to stop those investigating these secrets and truths, even when they don't belong to monsters and nightmares. </p>
<p>She listens, silent. </p>
<p>When they're finished, she nods thoughtfully — as if she had just finished listening to a lecture about the variations of ink acidity on parchment. "I see," she says. "Thank you for telling me." </p>
<p>And for a while, that is it. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Things get easier after that. </p>
<p>It wasn't that they were strained, before, but it always felt like walking on eggshells when they would leave on a job and come back less than whole. When it always felt like each task Gertrude sent them on took a little more of either Gerry or Michael than they were willing to give. </p>
<p>They don't have to lie to Sasha anymore, which Gerry is thankful for. She always had this look about her that felt like she saw through their bullshit but was too polite to ask. </p>
<p>Now, the thing that is different, is that she <em>does</em> ask, but they're all the right questions. </p>
<p>She wants to know everything — about what they are researching, about the monsters they face, about what those monsters want or fear or respond to. She doesn't write any of it down, because it's not research for a project. It's her insatiable sense of curiosity. </p>
<p>It's strange, Gerry thinks one day as the three assistants sit by one of the large windows together, poring over scrolls of prophecy and books of statements that somehow all connect back to <em>something</em> big. In some way, Sasha reminds him of Gertrude: a thirst for knowledge that never seems to be satisfied no matter how much she consumes. </p>
<p>But where Gertrude is always looking down, nose in a book, nose in a scroll, Sasha stares out into the world. Looking for answers in their stories, in the voices of the people who come to the Archives. She listens when they speak, and absorbs their every word. </p>
<p>Both Gerry and Michael feel responsible for her, in a way that she has never indicated she wants or needs. Sasha, with all her wide-eyed curiosity and hunger. Left to her own devices, there is a strong possibility that she would simply wander out of the Archives in order to find one of these monsters. </p>
<p>So they give her jobs, they keep her busy, keep her rooted to the building. </p>
<p>So much so that, after just two months, she knows the place better than either of them do after having worked there for nearly a year and a half. </p>
<p>She seems to know where everything is, and there is a question burning on the tip of Gerry's tongue that he can't bring himself to ask: </p>
<p>
  <em>Have you found the prophecy about me?</em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>"It's around here <em>somewhere</em>," Sasha grunts, standing up on her tiptoes to reach a high shelf. "If you just put things away where you found them—" </p>
<p>"Why, when I have the magical little Archival assistant fairy to put it away correctly for me?" Gerry teases, his feet kicked up onto the chair recently vacated by Michael. </p>
<p>The other assistant moves to help Sasha, and Sasha glares at Gerry from beneath Michael's outstretched arm. "Do you have a step-stool?" Michael asks as he locates the appropriate volume that she's been searching for. </p>
<p>"Why, when I have two wonderfully tall Archival assistant gentlemen to grab things off high shelves for me?" Sasha counters, and bats her eyelashes prettily at both of them. </p>
<p>Two months, and she's more like a little sister to both of them, but that doesn't stop Michael from being caught completely off guard as he leans against the shelf and tries to play it cool. </p>
<p>Gerry's laughter catches in his throat as he watches the unit wobble, then tip precariously over — despite the fact that Michael is more waif than man and shouldn't have put enough force on the shelf to push it over. </p>
<p>But over it goes, the three of them watching it topple with horrified fascination. </p>
<p>It crashes, thankfully not taking any other shelves down with it, and books and parchments are spat out of it like air knocked out of a person. </p>
<p>Sasha's the first to react, her hands going to her mouth, and she mutters a soft, "Oh dear."</p>
<p>For some reason, Gerry laughter explodes anew, so hard that almost slips out of the chair he slouches in, having to use the table to keep himself upright. </p>
<p>Michael gives a colorful swear as the last of the papers finally settle and he seems to snap back into himself. "Blazes!" He runs his long fingers back through his hair and then scrubs his palms over his face. "This is a mess! Is the shelf broken? Fucking heavens above, Sasha, this is why you need a step-stool!" </p>
<p>Sasha is caught between surprise at the accusation and infectious laughter from Gerry. "Me?!"</p>
<p>"What if you were leaning on it when it fell?" </p>
<p>"Then I'd imagine I'd have a few new bruises and a story of my own to tell you!"</p>
<p>Michael looks like he wants to be mad at her, but she has a tenuous smile as her shoulders shake with swiftly mounting laughter. So, instead, he rounds on Gerry. "Get off your ass and give us a hand." </p>
<p>"I had absolutely <em>no</em> part in the destruction of the Archives!" Gerry proclaims, holding a hand aloft, but gets up all the same. He picks his way carefully to investigate the damage done.</p>
<p>"How bad is it?" Sasha queries, because Michael is too busy scooping up armfuls of books and swearing. </p>
<p>Gerry crouches down and runs a hand along the seam where the back panel meets the sides. "Looks like there might be a crack, but feels pretty solid still." He gives it a firm shove with his hands, then prods at the crack with his fingers. "Help me get it up and we'll get a better idea." </p>
<p>Sasha steps forward, but Michael waves her off. She pouts and crosses her arms over her chest, probably ready to argue that just because she's small — the youngest — a girl — that doesn't mean that she can't help lift a bookshelf. </p>
<p>"I'm worried that Gerry's fabled prophecy might be more of a curse than anything else," Michael grumbles loudly, and Gerry nearly drops the corner of the shelf he was starting to shift right back down onto his foot. </p>
<p>This catches Sasha's attention, because <em>of course it would</em>. "There is a prophecy about you?" </p>
<p><em>This</em> makes it easy for Gerry to joke, "And here I was thinking of asking if you'd found it by now." He hopes it sounds like a joke. Because he's suddenly nervous, terrified at the idea that it's not here — terrified by the idea that it <em>is</em> but not even Sasha has tracked it down. That perhaps it is hidden away, or kept in a secret, locked box by Gertrude or Elias. </p>
<p>"Not yet, no," she says with a tone that means <em>I would love to try</em>. There's a beat, as she watches Gerry and Michael struggle to right up the shelf. Sasha clears the papers and books out of the way so they can put it back more or less in place. "What is it about?" </p>
<p>"If I knew, I wouldn't be here slaving away over other people's destinies," Gerry says, surprising himself with how much of a confession that is. "I'd be out there chasing it down."</p>
<p>Michael shoots him a look, but doesn't say anything. </p>
<p>With a hum, Sasha runs her fingers fondly over the lip of the bookcase, studying it like she's listening to a conversation only she can hear. "Maybe..." she starts slowly, drawing out the sound. </p>
<p>Gerry watches her, rapt, feeling more like she is preparing to cast a spell than continue with a conversation. </p>
<p>"Maybe it does not yet want to be found," Sasha finishes with confidence. "And certainly not by me." Still, she plucks one of the books off the table where it had been placed by Michael, and casts a teasing glance to Gerry as she slides it into place. "Doesn't mean that I won't try, just in case." </p>
<p>"Don't encourage him," Michael says, but Gerry holds Sasha's gaze and mouths a fond <em>thank you</em> to her.</p>
<p>She beams.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Does he want Sasha to know what is in his prophecy? Does he want her to find it before him? </p>
<p>He knows that she would not read it without him, despite how it would eat away at her to know the contents of it. </p>
<p>At the time, Gerry hadn't thought about the pause as she looked at the bookshelf. As she arranged books back upon it with careful consideration, placing things <em>just so</em>. But there <em>had</em> been a conversation there. </p>
<p>One between Sasha and the rustle of parchment and the sigh of the summer wind through the stacks. Of the sound of their footsteps over stone floors and the rustle of their clothes. Of the space bending around them and their movement. Words left behind in their wake that she understood. </p>
<p>Sasha understands these Archives better than Gerry or Michael. Perhaps, even, than Gertrude. </p>
<p>It is one thing to know the contents of the shelves, to know the words they contain and the weight of the futures they hold. </p>
<p>It is another to understand the magic of the space itself, and that is the language that Sasha speaks. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Things happen in a stilted sequence, one after another. </p>
<p>Gerry comes back from trying to hunt down a reference — and the verb goes from a simple search to a more literal definition as the beasts rose to retaliate. Wild, pack creatures given focus and purpose. To stop him, to turn him around, to bite his ankles until he was forced to retreat. </p>
<p>Gertrude, he's certain, knows more about these things than she lets on. Especially more than she's warned Michael and Gerry about. </p>
<p>"Just stay alive," was her helpful advice when they had asked. "In the end, that's what matters the most, isn't it?" </p>
<p>Sure. Sure, it is. In a base sense, if he wanted to continue feeling like prey instead of — instead of what? A scholar with a knife? These monsters who know him better than he knows himself, who don't want him to return to the Archives, but would not mind if he laid down on the floor and joined them there. </p>
<p><em>Just stay alive.</em> </p>
<p>Gerry wonders why that is so hard, sometimes. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Things happen in a stilted sequence. </p>
<p>He comes back from a <em>job</em>, one he had to write off as a loss, his leg bothering him but not too injured that he can't walk on it.</p>
<p>He passes a man leaving on his way into the archives. It's a man he's seen around before, tall and handsome and with just the right kind of smile. </p>
<p>They nod at each other in passing, a familiar sort of recognition, though Gerry still doesn't know <em>who</em> he is. He could ask Sasha, but instead he will leave it as one of the Archives' secrets. That perhaps he's not supposed to know, or else they would stop just missing each other. </p>
<p>Instead, he looks for Gertrude. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Things happen in a stilted sequence. </p>
<p>The question, <em>did they know when they hired him</em>, the question, <em>did they know</em>, the question, <em>why am I here</em> finally answered. (Which one?) (All of them.) (There's no difference.) </p>
<hr/>
<p>For nearly a full two minutes after Gerry stomps into her office, Gertrude continues to make notes in a ledger. Her sharp, pale eyes jumping from her book to a sheaf of papers, back and forth, hand moving the pen in a ceaseless motion. </p>
<p>Gerry stands there, his leg <em>aching</em>, but not enough that he needs to sit. He probably should sit. He should probably look at it, make sure it's not infected, but he can walk and in the end the only thing the pain is doing is making him irritable the longer he has to stand there waiting. </p>
<p>But one never gets anywhere interrupting Gertrude. </p>
<p>One has to wait. </p>
<p>And stew. </p>
<p>And ache. </p>
<p>"You're empty handed," Gertrude finally says, setting down her pen and sitting up. She does not lean back in her chair, merely crosses her hands over the ledger — obscuring the words, though he's certain she writes in a short hand so that people couldn't read it even if they tried. </p>
<p>He doesn't try. </p>
<p>He holds her gaze steady as he slams his own notebook down on her desk. "Just what the fuck is the Watcher looking for?" </p>
<p>Gertrude doesn't flinch, doesn't lower her gaze. "Curiosity—" </p>
<p>"Cats, curiosity, death, sure, whatever. It's not a good look on me, I know."</p>
<p>"Then why are you asking?" </p>
<p>"How am I supposed to defend myself from these things when I have no idea what I'm even up against?" Gerry lifts a hand to rake it through his hair, surprised to find that, after all this time, he's shaking. The adrenaline wearing off, after hours, now that he's standing still long enough. "You told us the most important thing is staying alive, but I am finding that increasingly difficult." </p>
<p>Gertrude gives an inelegant snort and shakes her head. "You are getting far too reckless, Gerard." <em>Jared.</em> "The Watcher is concerned with your performance." </p>
<p>Gerry scoffs despite himself. "Oh-hoh? Another prophecy about me?" </p>
<p>"<em>No</em>. It does not have to be a prophecy for him to see it." There's something about the way she says this that, for a brief instant, there's that lemon-pinched look on her face. Like the one during his interview. The sour apple she's resigned to eat. "Are you trying to <em>make</em> this about your prophecy?" </p>
<p>He waves a hand at the ceiling, putting his frustration into the gesture so that he won't lose his temper and shout instead. "No! But I would like to know if I'm expected to die the next time I leave this building to fight things that betray any sort of logic and reason." </p>
<p>"You think we are so heartless that we would bring you here knowing how you died?" Gertrude asks, and Gerry laughs. </p>
<p>He doesn't mean to, not really. It's not that funny, all things considered. "Fucking spare me, grandma," he says, enjoying the flicker of a frown. "If I thought either you or the Watcher had an ounce of compassion, I wouldn't be so upset." </p>
<p>"It's not compassion that you want," Gertrude snaps back, and any attempts she might have been making at being polite are now gone. "Really, Gerard, I didn't want to believe it at first but you are <em>just</em> like your mother." </p>
<p>As soon as the words leave her mouth, two things happen. Stilted sequence. </p>
<p>The first is that Gerry's stomach plummets to the floor and he goes still. </p>
<p>The second is that Gertrude's mouth snaps shut and her gaze finally flickers. </p>
<p>"Oh," Gerry says, trying to convey it with a laugh. "Oh, you weren't supposed to say that, were you?" </p>
<p>"Gerard—" she starts, and the worst thing is, she actually sounds apologetic. </p>
<p>"Fucking— <em>no</em>." Gerry reels back, and his injured leg finally gives out. He stumbles, catching himself on one of her precariously stacked boxes of notes. It topples, and he goes with it. </p>
<p>"Gerard," she tries again, but Gerry gives a shout of rage and shoves over another stack of boxes just to be petty. </p>
<p>"Don't!" With a generous amount of swearing, Gerry uses the door to lever himself back to his feet because at least that is solid. "Don't fucking call me that, unless you're going to be assed to say it correctly." He swipes a hand angrily at his face, shoving his hair away from his forehead. "This whole time, you knew! And my mother knew!" </p>
<p>Gertrude opens her mouth, then pauses, and closes it. </p>
<p>"Is it here?" he asks, needing to know. After everything, he needs to know <em>this one thing</em>.</p>
<p>Gertrude hesitates, then nods. Once. A single jerk of her head down, then back up. </p>
<p>He whirls around, gripping the handle to the door of her office so hard his knuckles turn white. </p>
<p>"I was serious when I said I don't want you looking for it," she says. "It will be a waste of time." </p>
<p>Torn between wanting to spite her, and wanting to give respect to the Archives that are keeping it from him, Gerry pauses. "Is it about how I die?" he finally asks. </p>
<p>"No," is the answer. Given without hesitation, and with conviction. "It's not." </p>
<p>"Then I won't look for it," he says, and he leaves before the conversation can continue. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Belatedly, he realizes that he never did find out about the monsters. </p>
<p>And, later still, he wonders how much he really cares. </p>
<hr/>
<p>When it comes down to it, Gerry realizes that it doesn't matter what the monsters are. He wouldn't be able to leave, even if he wants to. </p>
<p>This place peeling him apart layer by layer, <em>Jared</em> by <em>that look</em> by <em>you really are just like your mother</em>. </p>
<p>So she had known. This entire time, she had known. </p>
<p>He doesn't need to reach out to Mary to confirm — partly because he knows that the answer would just piss him off, partly because he doesn't want to speak to his mother again if he can help it. </p>
<p>Years of manipulation, of coercing him <em>just so</em>, to lead him to this place. Mary knows the contents of the prophecy, and she didn't care enough to try and keep him away from here. That doesn't shock Gerry. What <em>does</em> shock him is that she actually managed to not rub it in his face. Didn't turn it into one more fucking thing he has to do because she told him to. </p>
<p>Instead, she made it sound like he had no choice, that fate made these moves, that she, innocent of any involvement, couldn't have stopped it if she wanted to. She could have. She could have <em>cared</em> enough to help him. </p>
<p><em>"You look so much like your father,”</em>and it was an accusation. That's all it was. She did this because he looked like a man he could barely remember. </p>
<p>If he had looked like <em>anyone</em> else, would she have stopped to consider? If he had looked like her, would she have had any pity? </p>
<p>(Perhaps, if being smothered in his crib could be considered pity from Mary Keay.) </p>
<p><em>Gerard</em> was given to him by his father. That's why Mary never called him by his name. There was never any question who she might be speaking to, because it was only ever the two of them. If she said something, he listened. He obeyed. </p>
<p><em>Gerard</em> is the one thing he has that he considers his own — his looks, his father's; his everything else, his mother's; his future, the Archives'.</p>
<p><em>Gerry</em> is his, and his alone.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Finally, <em>fucking</em> finally, Gerry finds himself with a free afternoon at the same time the man with the charming smile is also in the Archives. And, because by now, Gerry has picked up on enough, he decides to have a little fun at everyone's expense. </p>
<p>Gerry takes a seat in the stacks a few shelves away, close enough that he can hear Sasha's and this man's voices in conversation, but not close enough that he can actually hear what they're saying. He pretends to read, just in case anyone else passes by. </p>
<p>It doesn't take long before Sasha leaves — off to find something that this man is requesting, because apparently he's from Research or something, and true: there is no one better to find something in these Archives, but surely there is a branch closer to the main Institute. </p>
<p>Gerry pushes himself to his feet as soon as Sasha's gone, knowing that he has just a few moments before she returns with whatever it is he is looking for. </p>
<p>He saunters over to the table where Research sits, smiling to himself with an expression that is decidedly less suave than the one he normally wears when strolling around the Archives. It is, Gerry thinks, rather soppy — which, of course, just makes this better. </p>
<p>Gerry picks up a rather large book so that it makes a tremendous <em>thud!</em> when he drops it onto the table across from Research. The sound of it bursts through the silence of the Archives like chaos, and Gerry realizes that it's no wonder the building doesn't like him as much as it likes Sasha. "Oh, sorry," he says as Research jumps in surprise. "Didn't see you there." </p>
<p>The edges of Research's expression wobble and shift, uncertain how to respond to this. There is the hint of recognition, placing the familiar face to the man that has passed him several times. </p>
<p>Gerry wonders if Research knows he's one of the Archival assistants — if Sasha's told him, or if he's figured it out on his own. Or perhaps he thinks that Gerry is just another person from another branch, another from the Institute, someone who comes and goes and isn't a part of this place for as long as his lifeline dictates. </p>
<p>With a theatrical sigh, Gerry drops into the chair that must have been Sasha's, kept a respectable distance from where Research perches in his own chair, but still angled close. </p>
<p>Research opens his mouth, and a stutter comes out, and Gerry is delighted to find that the other man actually looks a little terrified. "I'm sorry, someone was—" </p>
<p>"She won't mind," Gerry chimes, flipping open the heavy tome he had grabbed and snatching up one of Sasha's note papers. He starts to make some casual scribbles, not really actually recording anything down, and he can feel the other's gaze on him. "You've been coming around here quite often," he says without looking up. </p>
<p>"I've been working on a project..." Research fidgets, doesn't relax. </p>
<p>"Oh, a <em>project</em>?" </p>
<p>"Involving the circus—" he attempts to explain, and Gerry's pen pauses for just an instant. But then Research cuts himself off and Gerry keeps writing, pretending not to have noticed. "A lot of the things that I need have been brought to this branch, so..." </p>
<p>"So you keep coming to visit?" Gerry glances up in time to see the other man nod. </p>
<p>"Sash— er, Miss James has been very helpful with locating the things I need."</p>
<p>"<em>Miss James</em>," Gerry repeats, delighted by this. "She <em>is</em> incredibly helpful, isn't she?" </p>
<p>And now Research gets this look on his face, one where he's trying to decide how to interpret Gerry's words. He wonders which Research will choose. </p>
<p>Something clicks behind the other man's bright eyes and the lingering sop melts just a little, and maybe Gerry feels kind of like a dick for doing this to the kid but it's also in an attempt to tease Sasha so in the end it's worth it. "Oh... Oh, I'm— Are you and her—" </p>
<p>Ah, so he picked the <em>are you and her a thing</em> route. Stars above, Research must be smitten to jump to that conclusion. </p>
<p>But before Gerry can think of a suitably taunting reaction, Research's gaze flickers up, and the light in it returns (despite his recent line of thought), and that's the only warning Gerry has before a stack of papers whacks him in the back of the head. </p>
<p>"Please pay him no mind, Tim," Sasha says. "He just likes to be a menace." </p>
<p>Research — Tim — lets his eyes jump from Sasha to Gerry then back to Sasha, as if he's trying to figure out if the two of them <em>really are</em> a thing. </p>
<p>Sasha saves him the trouble by saying, "Tim, this is Gerry, one of the Senior Archival Assistants I've told you about." </p>
<p>"<em>Senior</em>?" Gerry chuffs a little at that. "That sounds official." </p>
<p>"It's only because you're so <em>old</em>," Sasha immediately quips back and Gerry is so startled that he just stares at her in shock as Tim attempts to stifle his laughter. </p>
<p>"I'm barely older than you are!" </p>
<p>Sasha clicks her tongue and shakes her head sadly. "Alas."</p>
<p>Gerry mimics her before holding out a hand across the table. "It's nice to officially meet you, Tim. Sasha has said absolutely nothing about you, so I think she's been trying to keep you a secret." This earns him another smack from a blushing Sasha. </p>
<p>Tim, who until that point had been resting with his cheek in one hand watching Sasha during her banter with Gerry, startles upright. But then his suave and easy smile is back in place and he accepts the handshake. "It's nice to meet you, Sir." </p>
<p>There's a brief moment where Gerry delights in being called 'sir' because it sounds official and polite, but then it clicks as Sasha's snickers can no longer be stifled behind her papers. "Hey—" </p>
<p>"It always pays to be polite to the elderly," Tim replies with a sage nod and a sly grin. </p>
<p>Sasha bursts out into laughter, and the Archives reflect it back, bright and pleased.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Life falls into a routine. </p>
<p>And, for a time, it's good. </p>
<p>It's not that there are no monsters, or that Gerry forgets about his prophecy. </p>
<p>But he and Michael go and come back, and they are okay. Not fine, not always, but okay. Alive, whole, being peeled away layer by layer but still being left with enough to call themselves <em>whole</em>. </p>
<p>Tim becomes a familiar fixture in the Archives, as the distance between him and Sasha diminishes — as the distance between him and Sasha becomes a held hand, a chaste kiss, then fucking <em>finally</em> a real kiss. </p>
<p>Tim still doesn't belong to the Archives — he is still Research, he is still a temporary resident who comes and goes — but as long as he belongs to Sasha, he is welcome. </p>
<p>Gerry is happy for them. He is happy that Sasha has someone when he and Michael are gone, even if Tim can't be there all the time. </p>
<p>He is worried, though. Of course he is worried, because he and Michael go and come back and they are the same but different. Michael retreats more into himself, more into his own studies and research until he is someone else. Still Michael, but peeled away to reveal a new Michael. </p>
<p>Gerry lashes out, the blade in his hand a constant thing, the anger in his blood that had always been there finally singing to the surface. </p>
<p>He goes, and he comes back. </p>
<p><em>The most important thing is to stay alive.</em> </p>
<p>Gertrude never said what sort of state he had to be in beyond that. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Gerry doesn't immediately track down Sasha after the meeting with Gertrude, but she is easy enough to find. The Archives allows him to find her, he thinks, as he drops into the chair across from her. </p>
<p>She's gazing out the window, fingers tapping idly at her lips, and doesn't shift when he arrives. </p>
<p>"Thinking about Tim?" Gerry teases, knowing that she has the best spot here to see the other man when he arrives from the Institute. </p>
<p>"No," Sasha says, and her voice is soft, thoughtful. Doesn't rise to his joke. "Just about something that Gertrude said." </p>
<p>He immediately sits up, his own folder of papers nearly slipping from his lap with the motion. "Is everything alright?" </p>
<p>She waves him off with a gesture that is so like the Archivist that it leaves him winded for a second. "It's fine. I'm fine. I just..." Sasha turns to him, her eyes wide behind round lenses. After a beat, she reaches up and pulls off her glasses to rub at her tired face. "I asked her about why I've never been given something to research outside of the Archives the way you and Michael do." </p>
<p>His stomach flips uneasily. "And?" The last thing he wants is for her to leave the safety of this place, to discover what it means to <em>stay alive</em> above beyond else. </p>
<p>A smirk flits at the corners of her lips and she hides it behind her fingers. "I promised her I wouldn't brag." </p>
<p>"I think you're allowed to brag, if it means that you received a <em>compliment</em> from Gertrude." </p>
<p>She laughs, and the melancholy thoughtfulness of her expression melts away. "I am also very good at keeping promises, so I shan't say." </p>
<p>He sighs and sinks a little in his chair. "Alright, fine, be that way. Want to help me look into this, then, oh Lady of the Archives?" </p>
<p>Her laughter continues, and she nudges her foot against his. "Yes, I'll help." </p>
<p>He hands over the folder, which references the strange occurrences in a field a few miles away, which the Watcher has referenced in a handful of prophecies. And as Sasha begins to read, her lips moving over silent words as she begins to create a list of related materials, Gerry watches her. </p>
<p>This is her element, he thinks, this building will protect her. Whatever her discussion with Gertrude entailed, it is good that she will stay here. </p>
<p>This is where she is most powerful.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The Watcher finds the three assistants huddled around the remains of tea and biscuits. </p>
<p>It is one of the rare occasions lately that three of them are together, like they had been before, and Sasha continues to listen to their stories with rapt attention — spouting off lists of references and documents that might be able to help them on their searches. It is, Gerry realizes as Elias steps into their midst, four years to the day since this Archive branch opened. </p>
<p>Sasha trails off in the middle of what she had been saying and Michael scrambles to his feet to attempt to clean up the mess they had made. </p>
<p>Elias simply smiles at them politely, his hands folded behind his back, and looks around — as if looking for someone. "I did not mean to interrupt," he says, his voice that patient and polite tone it always has on the rare occasions when he's spoken to any of them. "Please, don't let me stop you." </p>
<p>Gerry takes a bite out of a biscuit. </p>
<p>"Can we help you, Watcher?" Michael asks. There is a thinness to his voice that has been appearing more and more lately, like it is being carved away just like the rest of him with each job. </p>
<p>"I was merely looking for the Archivist. Have you seen her?" </p>
<p>Gerry catches the look Michael gives him, because <em>no</em>, they haven't, but they also know that she has been going out on trips of her own without passing it off to them like she normally would. </p>
<p>Instead, Sasha hops off the edge of the table where she had been perched. "I can help, if you need anything?" </p>
<p>Elias gives her a startled look, as if just noticing her for the first time. </p>
<p>But before he can ask <em>how</em>, she says, "The Archivist has been training me on some of her duties, and I know the details of these Archives better than anyone. I can assist in most matters that Gertrude can."</p>
<p>Gerry and Michael exchange another look. This is news to both of them, but Gerry begins to put the pieces of it together. </p>
<p>The conversation she had with Gertrude, the inquiry as to why she never got sent out on jobs. She's becoming a replacement, invaluable to the Archivist and her Archives. The best way to keep her safe. </p>
<p>Michael's shoulders slump, but there is something defeated in the gesture where Gerry just feels relief. </p>
<p>Elias studies Sasha. <em>Really</em> looks at her, like he's reading a particularly good novel and just got to the most unexpected plot twist. "I see," he says, drawing out the sound thoughtfully. "Yes, Miss James, that would be incredibly helpful. I hope you don't mind, then? It is a touch urgent..." </p>
<p>"Of course." Sasha dusts off her skirts and gives an apologetic smile to Gerry and Michael before following after the Watcher — a bounce to her step, like she is glad to be of use. </p>
<p>"Shit," Michael swears, which seems like an odd thing for <em>him</em> to say, all things considered. </p>
<p>Because there's no way Michael would know that look Elias gave Sasha, unless he's seen it before. </p>
<p>It's the same look he had during Gerry's interview, when he learned Gerry's name. The one that means he is putting the pieces together with something he has seen. </p>
<p>There is a prophecy about Gerry in the Archives. </p>
<p>And, suddenly, Gerry wonders if there is one about Sasha, too. </p>
<hr/>
<p>Gertrude sits across her desk from him, this familiar partition of papers and books between them. She has her hands folded on her desk, and she watches Gerry to gauge his reaction. </p>
<p>There is silence between them, the tense stand-off of study before she takes a breath and he braces himself for whatever she's about to say. </p>
<p>"Your mother has passed away." </p>
<p>He feels the barely-held together pieces of himself begin to crumble. The entirety of him, the one that was held together by <em>you're just like me, aren't you?</em> and spite and rage and that dagger sharp blade that was Mary Keay jabbed viciously between his ribs piercing heart and lung and artery suddenly ripped free to let it all fall apart. </p>
<p>Gerry wavers, and gravity wavers with him, and he drops into one of the paper-filled chairs with a crinkle of parchment. </p>
<p><em>I'm free,</em> is his first thought, though he doesn't much feel like it. Then, <em>how?</em></p>
<p>He shouldn't care, but he does. </p>
<p>She deserves it, however it happened, he doesn't care how he just cares that it has but she <em>deserves</em> it, and he shouldn't care that she's gone but he <em>does</em>. And it's not that he cares because it means <em>thank fuck</em> her hold over him is finally gone. </p>
<p>He cares because she was his mother, for whatever it was worth, for the sorrow in her voice as she brushed his hair aside and whispered, <em>You look so much like your father</em>, for the genuine pain she must have felt the night she had killed Eric Delano and then kissed her son who looked just like him. </p>
<p>She must have felt something, the same way that Gerry does care that she's dead.</p>
<p>"How?" he forces himself to say. </p>
<p>"Officially?" Gertrude says, and he suddenly realizes that <em>that</em> is where she had been recently, when Elias was looking for her. When she didn't tell anyone where she was going and simply left. She went to see his mother, to see what had happened. </p>
<p><em>Had she known then?</em> </p>
<p>A common litany when it comes to Gertrude. Timelines, tangled, <em>did she know?</em> screaming endlessly in the back of his head. Was Mary already dead when she left? Did Gertrude leave knowing that she would find a body, or did she leave with the intention of having a conversation? (Was it about him? Was he selfish enough, <em>special</em> enough, worthy enough to have it be about him?) </p>
<p>(Fuck, probably not, and he's mad that he's disappointed with this realization.) </p>
<p>"Any way you want to spin it," Gerry finally answers. </p>
<p>She sighs and leans back, one hand massaging her temple. When had she started to look so old? Does this job peel her back layer by layer as well? "Suicide, is what they're saying." </p>
<p>Because no one knows her well enough to know that she'd live on just to throw a middle finger at the entire world. </p>
<p>"What do you think?" Gerry has to ask, because he couldn't be there to see it, and she is not offering him any more details for free. </p>
<p>"There is no way that any human could have done that to themselves, but sometimes willful ignorance will let people believe the next most logical thing," Gertrude grumbles. </p>
<p><em>Things that defy reason.</em> A monster to fight monsters. What had his mother raised? What had <em>raised him</em>? </p>
<p>"I need to go," Gerry says, pushing himself suddenly to his feet. </p>
<p>"You will <em>not</em>," she replies so sharply that he almost sits back down, almost apologizes, almost allows himself to be pushed around again. </p>
<p>"She was my mother. I need to go—" </p>
<p>"What, see what is left of her?" </p>
<p>He hasn't seen her for five years, even before he applied to the Institute. </p>
<p>"If you have any respects to pay, do it in the privacy of your room, but you are not to go see her." Gertrude sits upright, her posture once again that of the Archivist, no longer a woman pretending to mourn the loss of one monster to another. </p>
<p>Gerry struggles to breathe. The pieces of him trying to pull themselves back together so he can remember how to be human. "I am going to arrange a funeral." </p>
<p>"There is nothing left worth burying." </p>
<p>"Are you saying that because you hated her or because she destroyed herself so thoroughly?" </p>
<p>"Is there a difference, Gerard?" <em>Gerard</em>, she says, and that feels more like a physical blow than the news of his mother's passing. "Are you so blinded by her hold over you that you think there was something of her worth saving?" </p>
<p><em>Yes</em>, he almost says, but bites it back. The fear of her, of her hold over him, still there in death. Like no longer being bound by a physical presence, she can drape herself over him like a shroud. "You do not get to tell me what I can or cannot do, Gertrude." He tries to say this evenly, to not betray how fractured he is. How hollow he feels. </p>
<p>Every little piece of him, barely able to hold itself together. </p>
<p>"Yes, I do. It's for your own good." </p>
<p>That's what they all say. That's what <em>every single one</em> of them say. </p>
<p>Like he's not a grown ass adult who can make his own choices. </p>
<p><em>Can you?</em> a tiny voice in the back of his head says. <em>Have any of these choices ever been yours?</em></p>
<p>Things already set in motion, his mother had said once. Fate, or something fucking like it. </p>
<p>If he doesn't go, he plays into Gertrude's hand and follows her word. If he does go, he's still under his mother's thumb. </p>
<p>Gerry can't breathe, because the knife that had tumbled free at last upon hearing of Mary's death is in his hand and he is ready to shove it back home in his breast. </p>
<p>He leaves her office. </p>
<p>He doesn't know where he is going — somewhere else. Somewhere away. Somewhere where he can wrestle his fingers free from around the hilt before he skews himself on the words of someone who wants the pieces of him to remain scrambled. </p>
<p>His feet carry him into the farthest corner of the Archives that he can manage before his legs give out and he collapses in a heap. His shoulders are shaking, every inch of him is shaking, trembling like it wants to vibrate into another dimension, like he's a hornet trapped by the bees and everything around him is shaking so hard so fast that he is going to combust. </p>
<p>Sasha is at his side in an instant. </p>
<p>He doesn't even know when she arrived. </p>
<p>It's like he's alone, he's falling apart, he can't breathe and the edges of his vision are sparking with white stars and fading and then the next moment her arms are around him and she holds him in a fierce embrace. </p>
<p>Gerry aligns himself once again in her arms. Finds the edges of himself, and begins to fill them in like a puzzle. </p>
<p>He still can't breathe, but she shifts to sit beside him, and he takes her offered hand. </p>
<p>He doesn't even realize how tight he is holding it until he realizes that her fingers are turning an awkward shade of purple, and the apology that is tugged out of him in shock finally gets him to remember how to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. </p>
<p>Sasha remains seated next to him without saying anything, holding his hand, and tucking her head onto his shoulder when the sobs finally come. </p>
<hr/>
<p>One day, a rare day when he's alone in the Archives (save for the Watcher, who is tucked away in his office, never interfering with the affairs of the place), Gerry tests the acoustics of the building by yelling. </p>
<p>All the anger and frustration and disappointment bundled inside of his chest, now on the outside — echoing around the domed ceiling and the glass windows like there are ten of him, a hundred, a thousand. </p>
<p><em>What am I to you?</em> he wants to ask, despite the dramatics of it all. </p>
<p>He wants to break something, but knows better than to ruin anything within the Archives. He doesn't want to see Sasha's disappointed face when she returns, and she so rarely gets to leave that she doesn't want her to feel like she's forced to remain because <em>he</em> can't control himself. Like a useless, too-big child. </p>
<p>He draws a target onto the back wall of the stables and throws his dagger at it until the blade dulls and it gets too dark and he's forced back inside. </p>
<p>In his office, largely unused because he's gone more often than not on jobs, and prefers to work in the shared space of the stacks, there is a single parchment. </p>
<p>Folded neatly, labeled with an obscure sorting code he's never really bothered to learn. </p>
<p>The dagger slips from his numb fingers and clatters to the stone floor, but he can't even be bothered to check if anything chipped or broke. </p>
<p>He knows what the parchment is without even having to look at it. </p>
<p>He wonders how it got here, in his rarely used office. Did Elias leave it here? Did the Archives itself? </p>
<p>In the center of his unused desk, because he only returned here for his whetstone, which he left in his travel bag, which he left in his office. </p>
<p>Shaking, head to toe, rattling like the glass after his shout reverberated through the building, Gerry picks up the parchment and reads. </p>
<hr/>
<p><em>This is what you are worth,</em> the Archives answers.</p>
<hr/>
<p>There is a prophecy about Gerry in the Archives. </p>
<p>It isn't about his death. </p>
<p>It's about what happens after he is already dead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Surprise Gerry side story!!! Curious to learn more? Check out the rest of the <i>inside every open eye</i> series :) I had told myself i was done with the series, but then I got a real good opening/closing line for this fic and also wanted to write about Gerry and Sasha being Friends and then 30 pages later, uh, here we are! </p>
<p>please also enjoy my <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5zmpsHKsRgK6DJO2O5d5H3?si=8c_ogh0rSxKwnd-71QOCBQ">Gerry playlist</a>! </p>
<p>Come say hi to me on <a href="https://twitter.com/littleladymab">twitter</a> and/or <a href="https://littleladymab.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> at littleladymab on both!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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